Skyla leaned forward and displayed the white tooth between forefinger and thumb. "Somebody goofed. I don't know if the crack shows on your monitor — the capsule did what it was supposed to. However, it seems that someone in your lab forgot to charge it with whatever the preferred Seddi poison is."
Bruen rubbed an ancient hand over his face. "I don't suppose you wanted to talk to me about hollow teeth."
"No, I wanted to talk to you about assassination. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Nyklos, here, was tagging along on my tail in hopes I'd lead him to the Lord Commander. Had I done that, he'd have killed both Staffa and myself, effectively decapitating the Companions."
Bruen nodded slowly. "That is one of our primary strategic concerns."
"You don't sound particularly contrite about it."
The wrinkles tightened around his mouth. "Come, come,
Wing Commander, you're no naive novice at the game of interstellar politics. We each have our respective goals. Ours would be served by your death and the dissolution of the Companions. You are pursuing your own aims — as are other political forces in Free Space. Or would you like to play games and mask the reality of the situation?"
Skyla cocked her head. "If we're being blunt, why don't you tell me exactly what the Seddi goal is."
"The restructuring of human epistemology." He raised an eyebrow. "You do know what that means, don't you?"
Skyla leaned back, frowning. "You want to change the entire way that humans think about themselves and the universe they live in?"
Bruen gave her a placid nod. "I admit it's a rather grandiose objective, but the Seddi believe that human suffering is rooted in a flawed epistemology — one which you and the Lord Commander both espouse. It's not just you, but the entire species which has come to believe that we must live in a universe controlled by unassailable political leaders. We absorb that idea through enculturation."
"Wait, you just lost me. Enculturation?"
Bruen placed his palms together and leaned forward, a gleam in his eyes. "Think seriously about a human infant, Wing Commander. It's literally an untrained animal. It doesn't know much of anything beyond the demands of its body, least of all how to behave properly in any given culture. Granted, behavioral genetics determines many aspects of personality and ability, but the intricacies of dealing with a society must all be learned. There is no genetic code in the DNA which tells an infant that eating peas with a fork is apropos behavior — especially not when using a spoon would be more effective. People from Ashtan learn very early that it is proper to belch as long and as loudly as possible to demonstrate appreciation for a good meal— much to the dismay of the traditional Regan who invites an Ashtan to his home for dinner. But we learn more than manners and social skills; we also soak up and integrate political ideology. Ask any Regan why Tybalt is the emperor, and he'll tell you that Tybalt is the emperor because someone has to be. That is enculturation: the process whereby an infant learns the values and expected norms of his society."
"And the Seddi wouldn't want the everyday Regan to simply accept the old
social dogma?"
Bruen inspected her through narrowed eyes. "You're a quick study, Wing Commander."
"Even if you could assassinate Staffa and myself, and Divine Sassa and Tybalt, you couldn't change the way people think about politics. Your goal is impossible. People don't just change the way they think about the universe overnight."
"The Seddi probably have a more complex understanding of the problem than you might believe. We expect a significant change in the way humans think about themselves in another thousand years or so. This is a long-term project, one which depends on education and increasing the ability of people to question the baseline assumptions they make about life. We don't expect any quick fix."
"Then Staffa and I had better get used to keeping our eyes open," Skyla told him with a grim smile.
Bruen nodded serenely. "Which brings us to another hot topic of debate: the Lord Commander. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me why he dropped everything, threw two empires into turmoil, and ran off to Etarus incognito?"
What do I tell him? Skyla fingered her chin as she considered. "Actually, he was on the way to Targa to see you."
For the first time, Bruen straightened, interest in his watery eyes. "Is that a feint? Some sort of dissembling—"
Skyla shook her head. "No, I mean it. He was headed for Targa to see you."
Bruen's expression reflected a deep curiosity. He tapped thin fingers on something out of sight of the comm pickup. "Why would he place himself at risk, crossing a potentially hostile empire, to gain access to a planet in the throes of civil war to try and find a Seddi Magister who has been trying to assassinate him for years? That makes no sense— but then, a lot of what the Lord Commander has done in recent weeks makes no sense."
"He is looking for his son." Skyla hesitated for a moment, then added, "And perhaps truth, Magister."
A light of understanding kindled in Bruen's eyes. "Ah, then the key really is the Praetor. What did he say to Staffa? What happened in that room? Were you there?"
Skyla's scalp crawled as she tensed. "You seem to know
an awful lot, Seddi. Perhaps I should keep Nyklos here under sedation and take him back to Itreata. I've already determined that he's the center for your spy ring on Etaria. I wonder what other jewels he'd spill under a mind probe."
Bruen barely acknowledged that he'd heard. His face had gone blank, lost in thought. Finally he looked up, eyes pensive. "Staffa's entire personality changed, didn't it? Mood swings, depression, irrational actions based on improper neural responses that had been masked for years?"
Skyla bent forward to stare hostilely into the monitor. "What are you getting at?"
Bruen waved her concern away, a wry animation to his movements. "The dance of the quanta Wing Commander. The uncertainty principal that makes life so damned fascinating and unpredictable. After all these years, I would like the chance to talk to Staffa kar Therma." Bruen took a deep breath. "I am willing to offer the Lord Commander safe passage for the purposes of a meeting between the two of us. We can work out the details later."
"And how do I know I can trust you?"
Bruen shrugged. "We'll figure out something." Then he glanced absently away as he propped his chin on a translucent palm. "The problem is that Ily Takka is about to whisk him out from under both of us. We'll have to act fast — and together."
Chapter 17
"They what?" Sinklar thundered, pounding his fist into the hardwood. His Section Firsts gawked in disbelief as they straightened from the desk they'd converted into a map table. A foreboding silence filled the office. Through the dusty windows, they could see the tree-dotted hills rising beyond the square plots of farmland.
"Gone," MacRuder told him from the door of the commandeered grain exchange office building. "The Minister of Defense recalled all transport to provide the Second Division," — his expression soured—"what he called 'emergency strike capability.' "
Sinklar cursed and leaned forward over the spread maps. He ground his jaws. Damn them
Gretta exploded with, "Rotted Gods! We're halfway to Vespa with two thousand troops and no pus-dripping transport"
The others erupted into curses as they shouted questions back and forth.
"Quiet, people. I need to think." Sinklar took a deep breath. He controlled his rage and flexed his muscles to ease the tension. Then he dropped into the use-polished chair behind the desk. "So, the power play begins."
He glanced down at the topo map, brow creased; he cataloged the distance to Vespa. Left in the middle of rough country, farms filled the valleys between rugged chains of mountains. A big mine lay within a half-day's march, but other than that, nothing.